


clouds of smoke.

by alekstraordinary



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Domestic, Feelings, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:59:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23804974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alekstraordinary/pseuds/alekstraordinary
Summary: He pressed his lips into a thin line and shook his head slightly, a clear sign of annoyance, as he freed himself from the billowed mess of covers. “I asked you if you had cigarettes, friend.”  — further bonding between Oswald and Ed behind the scenes of s02e09THE SERIES HAS NOW BECOME A MULTICHAPER FIC TO KEEP ALL THE PARTS IN ONE PLACE! https://archiveofourown.org/works/23934097/chapters/57556273
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot & Edward Nygma, Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28





	clouds of smoke.

**Author's Note:**

> Have I written yet another fic about my favourite sociopaths while refusing to finish s2 and move on to s3 in fear of what pain awaits me there? Absolutely yes that's exactly what I've done. But hey now it's going to be a series where I just write one-shots to fill in what I feel is the blanks in the show. And make everything much gayer yes. It is my duty as a gay person to provide everyone with more gay content. I hope you'll enjoy this little fic. See you in the next one! <3  
> [you can follow me on Twitter @alekstraordinar where I mostly just cry about Oswald and Ed]

“Do you have cigarettes?” 

Ed straightened up from where he was standing by the stove, his head hung down and hands folded behind his back as put a kettle on a small fire burning. He pondered the question for precisely five seconds, weighing it in his mind and trying to determine whether he had misheard. That didn’t seem likely, although it still was a rather unexpected and peculiar inquiry--simultaneously perfectly within and entirely out of character. With the new path he had taken in his life, he certainly was in no position to complain about the lack of entertainment or adrenaline, but the perspective of learning something new gave him a thrilling rush nonetheless, heat rising on his high cheekbones and heart stuttering for a blink of an eye. He exhaled slowly at the sudden buzzing in his blood, trying to keep his composure as best as he possibly could. Seeing how he had no appearances to uphold, with excitement influencing his behaviour in the past, he could have had just let go and start prodding in his usual manner, however now he had a greater goal in mind. He wanted to prove, nearly desperately, that he was a worthy ally. 

Slightly trembling, as if the blood in his veins was blubbing and fizzing, he spun around on his foot to face his companion. By that time, Oswald had already made himself more than comfortable in Ed’s apartment, moving around it as if it belonged to him, albeit still with a bit of difficulty due to his injuries. As the water was heating up, the infamous Penguin was spread rather comfortably in Ed’s bed, tangled up in the thick duvet with his sleep-mussed black hair protruding in every direction and with a plate in his lap. He was eating the sandwich Ed had made for him as a snack only minutes prior, more than happy to see his new friend get his appetite back. It took a bit of work to put him back in his right state of mind, but even with that regained, one could have difficulties believing that a man looking so small and so fragile could be one of Gotham’s most notorious killers. 

Smiling, Ed raised his eyebrows slightly. “Do I have what now?” he asked innocently, hoping he wasn’t making it obvious just how much he  _ adored _ getting Oswald to talk instead of making educated guesses or drawing out conclusions himself. “Sorry, didn’t hear you.”

In response, Oswald gave him a highly displeased look, putting his sandwich down on the plate. He pressed his lips into a thin line and shook his head slightly, a clear sign of annoyance, as he freed himself from the billowed mess of covers. “I asked you if you had cigarettes, friend,” he said, bare feet already on the floor, one of his hands put down firmly on the bedside table to help get himself up. Ed hadn’t had the chance to get a proper look at this particular issue just yet, but from his understanding and observations, Oswald’s old injury extended only to his foot, not reaching further up than past his ankle, middle of his calf at most. It was curious as to why, with all of Gotham sitting in the palm of his hand, he still hadn’t elected to do anything about it. By the way he moved, and the expressions he made when he thought nobody was looking, it was clear that it was causing him pain every now and then--something that could be easily remedied with a solution as simple as a brace. “I could smell smoke on you when you came in.” 

Ah. Brilliant. He was so observant, it was  _ delightful _ to see the cogs in his brain spinning yet again after the depressive dump that had held him for a couple of days. “Well, I’m an adult man, Mr Penguin,” Ed remarked, still smiling, but his fingers were itching. “I can have a shameful cigarette every now and then. It’s definitely not the worst thing I’ve done in life.” 

“Do you genuinely believe that I am  _ judging _ you for  _ smoking _ ?” Oswald asked as he limped across the apartment, resting his hip against the counter right next to where Ed was standing. Under his care, the dark circles around Oswald’s eyes had significantly faded, although he sincerely doubted they would ever completely go away. It was a good thing, too, it was adding to the image, oddly reminding of a sickly, yet cunning and powerful Victorian young man. “I’m the king of Gotham,  _ Ed _ ,” oh, he liked the way Oswald pronounced his name. “You would need to do far, far more than to  _ smoke _ and kill a few people to impress me. I would like one.” 

Ed blinked. A little “pardon me?” escaped his lips, trembling with excitement at the edges, right before he remembered to gather himself up. His smile only widened as he nodded his head, not minding the confused look on Oswald’s face. He was more than used to people reacting far less pleasantly to his questionable social skills, so he could at least appreciate that his new friend wasn’t judging him in that matter, either. If anything, Ed felt as though there was some sort of a connection between them. They were both coming from a background where they were mocked and ridiculed, treated as lesser for no other reason than standing out a little from the generally agreed norm. And here they were now, taking a sort of revenge, proving everyone wrong. Truly, it could be no coincidence that Ed’s and Oswald’s paths had crossed again, and Ed dearly hoped for their… relationship to continue to blossom. “There you go,” he said as he pulled a slightly crumped pack out of the pocket of his trousers, taking one for himself as well. “I guess I took you more for a cigar kind of man.” 

With a surprisingly endearing scrunch of his nose, Oswald reached for the box of matches sitting next to the kettle. “Cigars are disgusting,” he muttered as he put the cigarette between his lips and ignited the tip of it. He inhaled deeply, his eyes shutting close for a second of unadulterated pleasure. He then exhaled slowly and continued: “They taste terrible, and so does bourbon. And they are both pretended to be enjoyed by the men who think that they have something to prove. Their masculinity, I suppose, but I’m afraid the effect is precisely the opposite.” 

“Oh?” Ed made a sound of surprise around the filter of his cigarette as he held it up to his mouth with two fingers, the yellow light from the burning tobacco battling on his face with the green glow of the neon seeping from the outside. “That is a… rather interesting observation there, Mr Penguin. Why are you telling me this?” he wanted to know, but his heart already accelerated as he anticipated the obvious answer. This was all so thrilling, so  _ beautiful _ . It was putting him in a state similar to the rush he had felt when he killed those three people, like for the very first time he was alive, waking up from a deep slumber. 

Oswald didn’t respond right away, taking his time with the cigarette he was evidently thoroughly enjoying. If he was used to smoking, even if it were only in rare circumstances as a means to relieve stress, those past days without a single drag must have had been difficult on him. Hopefully, now he would become even more relaxed, more approachable. “This is why I’m here, is it not?” he finally replied with a question. He made a vague gesture with his hands, strings of smoke following his movements. “You wanted me… to guide you on this new path of yours, whatever that means to you. So treat this as your first advice, because, as you pointed out yourself, a man with a weakness is a man that can be bargained. And it’s crucial to know what that weakness is.”

More enthusiastically than he planned on, Ed hummed in agreement, noting each word carefully in his mind. There was so much he could learn from Oswald, from the man who went from holding Fish Mooney’s umbrella to being easily one of the most powerful people in Gotham, and all of this over the span of a single year. It was impressive, really, admirable. To come in such a close contact with a man of almost legend was a wonderful experience, not stained by the rough mental shape Oswald had been in the beginning. Sometimes people simply needed a push—Ed knew something about it—and he was more than happy to have had been able to provide Oswald with it. But even besides all the admiration, Ed had found himself growing fond of his companion in a manner going beyond respect. 

He thought for a moment, listening to the quiet crackling of his cigarette. Then he spoke up again, watching Oswald smoke: “I can make your heart beat fast, or not at all. I can make you sweat and tremble in fear. I can make you sing and cry with glee. I can cause you pain and I can bring you joy. I am the most obvious and the greatest unknown. What am I?” 

Arm tucked across his chest, Oswald’s eyebrows drew together as he focused on the riddle. His cigarette was almost completely burnt out, the shimmering red and orange quickly eating through the thin paper, coming dangerously close to white knuckles. “Another one of your riddles?” he grunted, and although he likely meant to sound tired or annoyed, there was just enough of amusement in his tone that gave Ed a pleasant pang in his chest. “I… I don’t know.”

Ed gave him a smirk, an all-knowing quirk of the corners of his lips stretching across his face, causing dimples to appear in his cheeks, wrinkles around his eyes. He exhaled the smoke slowly, his gaze shifting from the swirling blue lines of smoke to the cold and endless blue of Oswald’s eyes. He didn’t know either. 


End file.
